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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365048">The Lucky Ones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinCanTelephone/pseuds/CameraLux'>CameraLux (TinCanTelephone)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Childhood Friends, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Slow Burn, Teasing, Texting, lots of texting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:46:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinCanTelephone/pseuds/CameraLux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At fifteen, Sokka doesn't expect or desire to get along with his sister's younger friends. </p><p>But life does funny things, and there's nothing like a near-death experience to make a person re-evaluate their childhood friendships.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang/Katara (Avatar) (background), Katara &amp; Sokka (Avatar), Toph Beifong/Sokka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Lucky Ones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So… funny story one morning last week while waking up in a half-dream state the entire plot of a fic just <em>came to me</em>. It was the craziest thing- so crazy I didn’t really think I’d pursue it seriously but I’m on vacation so I pulled up a google doc to write a few scenes down just to mess around and the words just came and kind of… didn’t stop, to the point where I wrote the first 9k words of this all in one day, and then finished it in the next two. I still can’t believe I conceived of this idea and wrote the whole thing in less than a week and tbh my mind is <em>still</em> reeling. I didn’t originally intend to post it but it’s become clear my brain won’t be able to let it go until I do, so I hope you enjoy.</p><p>cw: mention &amp; non-graphic descriptions of blood &amp; vomiting</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first time Sokka sees her, he’s fifteen and negative interested in whatever his sister and her friends are up to. All he understands is that she’s hanging out with middle schoolers, who are practically babies from his point of view. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s hiding out in his room while they’re over, playing video games and doing his best not to have anything to do with them, but he has to come out for food at some point and Katara accosts him on the way to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, Sokka, just come and say hi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why? They’re your friends, not mine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She crosses her arms. “Come on, don’t be a baby.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Baby? I’m not a baby, they’re babies! What’re you doing hanging out with seventh graders anyway, you’re in high school now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well unlike you I’m a decent human being, so I’m not bothered by arbitrary divisions like <em>grade</em> and <em>age</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cornered, Sokka lets himself get dragged into the living room to say hi to Katara’s friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is Aang– we met at the pool over the summer. He’s on the swim team, too. And this is Toph, she was helping Aang in math last year and now we’ve been teaching her to swim as well. Guys, this is my brother, Sokka.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka waves at the two kids at the coffee table- a skinny boy with closely cropped hair and a wide smile, and a girl with black hair in tight space buns and a white cane folded next to her knees.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She must feel him staring because after a few seconds she snaps at him, “What do you think a blind girl can’t swim?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds up his hands and lies through his teeth. “No, I wasn’t thinking that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good.” She crosses her arms and turns back to their game of crazy eights. The deck of cards they’re using isn’t familiar to him and he realizes they must belong to her– each one has raised braille dots in one corner that tell her what it is. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara rejoins them and Sokka escapes gratefully to the kitchen to put together two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before returning to his room, putting the encounter out of his mind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Although Toph and Aang come around with a fair amount of regularity, Sokka does not pay much attention to them over the next two years. Suki accepts his invitation to the sophomore formal, and after that he has a real, official <em>girlfriend</em> and absolutely no time for his baby sister (who cares that she’s only 15 months younger than him) or her friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next time he really interacts with Toph and Aang, he’s about to start his senior year and practicing soccer drills in the backyard. Suki had decided they “needed a break” at the beginning of the summer, and he’s hoping a place on the varsity team will help her realize their break has been long enough. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Normally, he still wouldn’t hang out with Katara’s friends, but his social life is in a bit of a lull so he’s really got nothing better to do. Plus it’s hot and Katara made lemonade, and he knows she won’t give him any unless he sits out on the back porch and drinks it with them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Over the course of a few afternoons, Sokka realizes they’re both pretty cool– they laugh at his jokes more than Katara does, anyway, and Toph seems to enjoy pissing her off almost as much as he does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He also learns something new about Toph.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…yeah, and then I told my dad if he didn’t let me go to the public high school I’d tell my mom his ‘business trip’ last summer was only meant to be for one week, not three.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aang’s eyes bug out. “Oh my God, how’d you find that out?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smirks. “I overheard his secretary making the arrangements.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka almost chokes on his lemonade. “Your dad has a secretary?” What the hell are they doing hanging out on their peeling back porch on the edge of the bad part of town? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara gives him a look. “Do you know who her dad is?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…Should I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lao Beifong,” Toph says casually, reclining lazily in her chair with her knees above the table, as if that explains everything. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But after a moment, it clicks. “Wait, <em>that</em> Beifong?” He smacks his forehead. “The guy with the billboards all over the city?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She arches an eyebrow. “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about billboards but I’m told the name is recognizable.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Holy shit</em>. From what Sokka can gather after spending 20 minutes on google that evening, the Beifongs own the majority of the most expensive property in the center of town, and even more in the city. There’s even a wing of the local hospital named after them, on account of a contribution made around fourteen years ago. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’ll admit it’s a little weird, getting used to hanging out with a literal <em>heiress</em>, but despite her family she’s shockingly down-to-earth and surprisingly easy to hang out with. He’s eventually invited to the group chat Katara shares with them, but ends up creating a separate thread just with her. At first it’s mostly to orchestrate elaborate pranks on Katara that Aang refuses to participate in, but when he acquires a used pickup truck, he gets in the habit of offering her rides when he’s free and she needs them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, thanks a <em>million</em>,” she says, collapsing into the seat and directing all the vents towards her. Sokka already has the heat on high, because the temperature had plummeted as soon as the sun went down he knows she hates the cold. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No problem.” He puts on his blinker and pulls carefully out of the parking lot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know I could’ve called my dad but he hates these things and if I have to hear one more time about how jiujitsu isn’t a <em>ladylike</em> after-school activity I’m going to throw myself out of a moving car.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka grins. “Glad to be of service. And for the record, jiujitsu is an <em>awesome</em> after-school activity. Way cooler than Tai Chi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs. “Katara try to get you into that, too?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” He laughs, too. “Terrible. All that deep breathing and slow movements?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Gross</em>.” Toph makes a rude sound. “Give me a punching bag any day.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or a soccer ball,” Sokka says. He turns up the hill to where her family lives, his car rattling up the street lined with Audis and BMWs. “Speaking of which, I’ve got an away game on Thursday so I can’t pick you up then, but I should be free to do this again on Tuesday.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks sharply over at him. “Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he says easily. “I mean, a lecture on ladylike behavior once a week is better than twice a week, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess so.” She huffs. “Although at this rate it might turn into a lecture on accepting car rides from boys.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They go over a bump and Sokka’s temperamental radio abruptly dies, leaving them in silence that suddenly feels very awkward. Sokka swallows convulsively, not sure why his neck feels so hot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph breaks it first, with a punch on the bicep he’s learned is her signature. “I mean, I’ll take whatever you got, Snoozles.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubs his shoulder and groans. “You catch me sleeping in <em>one time</em>–”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was almost two in the afternoon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was a weekend!” They laugh, and thankfully the awkwardness dissipates. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Teasing aside,” she says at the end. “Thanks for the offer, I really appreciate it. And of course I’ll compensate you for gas.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like I said, it’s not a problem.” He really isn’t lying, and he hopes she can tell how sincere he is. He genuinely doesn’t mind, and (he’d never tell her this), maybe his reasoning is a little selfish. His graduation in less than four months and subsequent departure for college is looming on the horizon, and dang it if he won’t miss Katara’s friends when he leaves. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s another long silence, although it’s less awkward than the first. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph breaks it again. “You talked to Suki lately?” she says</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope.” Sokka cuts the wheel to the right as they wind up the boulevards to Toph’s house. Sometimes he regrets confiding his romantic woes to Katara, Aang, and Toph, and he wonders if this is going to be one of those times. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you guys are speaking again, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, technically.” It’s hard not to. She plays on the girls’ team and they often travel together, which Sokka thought would be a good thing but has ended up being a neutral-to-bad thing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I bet she’ll come around,” Toph says. “Not-speaking to speaking is an improvement, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess.” He reaches her driveway and pulls in, as always feeling a little twinge of self-consciousness at the ostentatious brick pillars that frame the entrance. He stops the car and lets the engine idle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hesitates to get out. “Can I offer you some advice?” she says. “I know I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but maybe it’ll help anway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure.” At this point, he’ll take anything. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Instead of like, talking around the situation and how you’re feeling, just have a direct conversation with her,” she says. “No games, no subtext. Just say what you mean and what you want. Then listen when she does the same.” She fingers the doorhandle. “It’ll be easier that way. When it’s all out in the open.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…Yeah. You’re probably right.” Trust Toph to tell him the hard truth. Shit he knows in his heart but never wanted to hear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just try it.” She gives him another punch in the arm. “I bet you’ll have a date for senior prom after all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know if I’d put money on that.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would,” she says, before bracing herself and opening the car door. “Thanks again for the ride, Snoozles. See you next Tuesday. Y’know, figuratively.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See you on Tuesday,” he says. “Literally.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the end, he does have a date to senior prom, and Toph is insanely smug about it. Not that she has too much time to gloat, because being back on the ins with Suki means he’s a lot busier between soccer, college applications, and trying to graduate on the honor roll. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph isn’t at his graduation, because he only got two free tickets and of course they went to his dad and Katara, but she’s at the after-party along with Aang, who is not-so-subtly trying to get more alone time with Katara. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good Lord, he should just ask her out already,” she says as they flirt against the back fence, their heads close together and ridiculous grins plastered on their faces. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean he hasn’t yet?” Sokka says. He hasn’t been keeping himself apprised of the situation, but the few times he’s caught them almost cuddling on the couch have made him wonder the exact nature of his sister’s relationship with Aang. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope.” Toph takes a lazy sip of fruit punch. “And don’t ask me what’s stopping him. Now <em>there’s</em> a guy that can have a whole conversation without answering a direct question.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka laughs. “He’ll figure it out eventually.” After a moment of thought, he leans over to nudge her shoulder. “He’s got you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins, and he wonders if he’s imagining her blush. “Yeah, I guess he does. I get credit for you and Suki working it out, don’t I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Definitely.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You two are going to try the long-distance thing, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Sokka’s brows pinch together and he fiddles with the rim of his plastic cup. Despite their best efforts to coordinate, he and Suki will be going to separate colleges, but he’s determined to make it work anyway. “I think it’ll be fine. We’re in a really good place right now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s good,” she says. “I wish you all the best.” She cocks her head towards the back door. “Sounds like she finally escaped your dad and Bato.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes. “They’re not that bad.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs and thumps his shoulder. “It’s a good thing, Meathead. You’ve got people in your corner if you ever need it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins. “You, too?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She presses her lips together to keep from grinning back. “<em>Maybe</em>.” Another punch to his arm. “And before you say anything, I’m <em>only</em> getting sentimental because you’re leaving us all for college in a few months and there’s like, the <em>tiniest</em> chance I’ll miss you, or whatever.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Awww</em>.” His grin grows even wider and he wraps her in a one-armed hug. “I like this Sentimental Toph. I should leave for college more often. And for the record,” he holds her a little tighter, “I’ll miss you, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He relishes the blush she tries to hide behind her hair before shoving his arm from her shoulder. “Okay, Sentimental Toph is leaving now. Go hang out with your girlfriend, Loverboy. I need to see if there are any more chicken fingers.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka rolls his eyes and lets her make her way back to the makeshift buffet table, putting his cup down so he can properly greet Suki. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It ends up being the last he sees of Toph for quite a while. He texts her when he remembers, but a mechanical engineering major turns out to be No Joke and combined with club soccer and a job at the tutoring center he doesn’t remember very often. On breaks, he spends most of his time hanging out with Suki or catching up on sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sees Aang a little more frequently, now that he and Katara have made it official, and notes with some displeasure that Aang is now taller than him and Toph has pulled away somewhat, apparently tired of being the Third Wheel. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s thinking about letting her dad switch her to private high school,” Katara says one morning while they’re home for spring break from their respective colleges. “She made some new friends and apparently some of them go there.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka snorts. “She’s only got– what, one and a half more years until she graduates. What would be the point? I bet she ran out of blackmail material.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara smiles ruefully. “Or that. I gather her parents have been sleeping in separate bedrooms for years.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just goes to show, money doesn’t solve everything.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But it does help.” Katara glares at the paperwork spread out on the dining room table. “These financial aid forms are hell.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me about it,” he mutters through a sip of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe how many meetings with the FA office it took me to figure out a way to stay an extra year for a master’s.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Forget a master’s,” she says. “How the hell am I going to pay for <em>medical school</em> after all this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sell a kidney on the black market?” He snorts at his own joke. “I’m sure one of your pre-med buddies could hook you up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very funny.” Her phone vibrates and she flips it over. “Shit, it’s Aang. I’m going to have to finish these later.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See ya.” He waves as she collects her things and heads out the door, then flops onto the couch with his phone. Bored, he opens his messages and texts Toph.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Heyy. How’s junior year treatin’ ya?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t reply immediately, but he doesn’t have to wait long. <em>Not too bad.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I heard you’re thinking of transferring.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yeah. I know it would only be for like a year but it’ll make my dad shut up, y’know?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I guess. But it’s a big change.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Not really. I mean, you’re gone, and now Katara’s gone too, so it’s just me and Aang. Plus since I’ve been in the girls choir it’s not like I don’t know anyone at the private school</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Wait. You’re in a CHOIR now??</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Lol yeah another bargain with Dad. Choir in exchange for jiujitsu. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka grins in spite of himself, picturing Toph in a starched black dress singing with a bunch of other high school girls. He replies, <em>Fair trade, ya think?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fair enough</em>. <em>Turns out I don’t hate singing. Plus I hear I’m pretty good at it. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He chuckles and thinks about the few times he’s heard her sing along to the radio in his car. <em>I bet you are. </em>He sips his coffee and looks at the time, considering his next move. <em>You free to hang out today?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches anxiously as three bouncing dots appear, disappear, then appear again. <em>Sorry, I can’t. On my way to choir right now, and after that I’ve got SAT prep class. Tomorrow?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’m heading back to campus tomorrow. Got a club soccer game over the weekend.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Damn.</em> Before he can respond, the three dots appeared again, before disappearing, then reappearing. <em>You get to see Suki at all this week?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets out a sigh that’s almost (<em>almost</em>) a groan. <em>Nope. She went on a service trip to build houses for the homeless.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Ouch. For you, I mean. I’m sure the people are going to appreciate the houses.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins despite himself. <em>Yeah. It’s kinda annoying though, selfishly. The long distance thing blows</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I can imagine</em>. He’s about to respond when she texts again, <em>Gtg</em>,<em> at choir now</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Talk to you later</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As expected, she doesn’t reply, and what with one thing or another they don’t text again for over a year. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next time Sokka actually sees Toph in person, he can’t remember the last time that happened. He’s a senior in college now, a year and a half away from graduating with a master’s, and home for winter break. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph and Aang are college freshmen now, Aang having followed Katara to the local university, and Toph at a private college with the best Center for Students with Disabilities that money can buy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It makes me feel like such a ‘rich kid,’ </em>she’d said over text. <em>But at the same time they’re really good about helping me out with stuff. Doesn’t feel too different from the Academy</em>. In the end, she’d gone through with the transfer for her senior year of high school. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s home early. He and Suki officially called it off again a few months ago, and the semester had really wiped him out. After pushing through a bad cold and some truly crushing fatigue for the last few weeks of the term, he’d eventually thrown in the towel and left campus as soon as he possibly could, so he could maybe start to recover in between turning in his finals from home. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara’s around too, her semester having ended a week before his, but has not spared him much attention lately in between reading every secondhand MCAT study book she can get her hands on and spending time with Aang. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t be bothered to keep close track of her plans, nor she his, so he’s startled awake from an unintentional nap on the couch by an impatient pounding at the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara opens it with one hand while putting in earrings with the other and Toph and Aang shuffle into the living room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey guys, I’m almost ready!” Katara gives Aang a quick kiss before skipping back to her bedroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, we’re early.” Aang takes a seat at the dining room table, long legs practically telescoping as he bends down. Sometimes Sokka wonders if he’ll ever stop growing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph doesn’t sit, preferring to lean against the wall by the door, which is just as well because Sokka does a double take when he sees her and pushes up on his elbows to get a better look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s grown a lot, too, he realizes. Not in height so much, he supposes she’ll always be short, but in every other sense of the word. Her face is sharper, more mature, and when she takes off her coat in the warmth of the living room he’s ashamed to find that his eyes fall briefly down to her chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He jerks them back up again as soon as he realizes he’s done it and thanks whatever god is watching that she can’t see him blush. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unfortunately, Aang can. “Hey, Sokka.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka remembers there’s someone else in the room and forces his thoughts back in line. “Uh. Hi, Aang. And–” his voice cracks for the first time in <em>years</em> and the blush grows deeper, “–Toph.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aang’s grin widens, but like the Good Guy that he is, doesn’t say anything about it. “I didn’t know you’d be home yet.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Sokka carefully moves his laptop from his stomach to the coffee table. “All my finals are written assignments so I decided to turn them in from home.” He stretches and cracks his neck. He’s still kind of tired, which is annoying, and not near halfway done with the literature review he’d started that morning. “What’re you guys up to today?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Katara and I are seeing a movie,” he says. “And dropping Toph at the train station on the way over.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka raises his eyebrows at Toph. “The train station? Where’re you headed?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just into the city,” she says. “For the weekend, to see my Mom before the holidays.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm.” He’d heard through the grapevine about her parents’ divorce. Not really a surprise to anyone, but an understandably sore subject. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She jerks her thumb at Aang. “My train doesn’t leave for another two hours, but these lovebirds are the only ones who can take me and their movie won’t be done by then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aang looks a little guilty. “I’m sorry, Toph. Like I said, we can always call you a cab–”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” she says. “No cabs, they always try to rip me off. Like– Bitch, I’m positive I gave you a 20 and not a 5. I know how my wallet is organized.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara comes back into the living room and begins shrugging on her coat and boots. “Shit, I’m sorry about that again, Toph. I wish we could’ve worked out the timing better–” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll take her.” Sokka closes his laptop and stands up. “I can’t believe you didn’t ask me sooner, Katara.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hesitates, one boot on and one boot off. “Sorry, it didn’t occur to me. You’ve got your finals to worry about and–” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just one final now.” He waves a hand at his computer. “And it’s already put me to sleep today. I need to get up and move around.” His eyes have wandered back to Toph, who still hasn’t put her jacket back on, and is really making him wonder whether her neck was always that long or if he’s just noticing now.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, okay.” Katara looks relieved, if a little surprised. “That actually works out really well, if Toph doesn’t mind hanging out here for a while to wait.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph shrugs. “Sounds good to me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great!” Aang stands up and claps his hands. “I’ll grab your suitcase from the car before we go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before long, they’re out the door and Sokka and Toph are alone, standing on either side of the dining room table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gestures even though she can’t see it. “So… do you want to sit down?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure.” She navigates to the table and sits, fingers drumming on the wood. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Want anything to drink? Water? Tea?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tea’s fine. Jasmine, if you have it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We do.” Feeling awkward and weirdly nervous, Sokka escapes to the kitchen to put the water on. He and Toph haven’t been alone together in a long time, and isn’t it a horrible coincidence that when it finally happens she’s making him feel all sorts of weird. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He makes the tea, jasmine for her and black for himself, hoping the caffeine will wake him up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sit at the table in silence for a few minutes while she warms her fingers on her cup before he breaks the silence. “So… how’re you doing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shrugs. “Pretty good. You?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Same.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns. “Why would I not be good?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another shrug. “I don’t know. Katara implied you were having a rough semester or something. That’s why she didn’t ask if you could drive me. She was worried about you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s overreacting, as usual. I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s good to hear.” She leans forward. “I… I’m glad it worked out like this. It’s been a minute since we’ve hung out.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cracks a smile. “Yeah. You look…” <em>Shit</em>, he’d started the thought, and now he has to finish it. “You look good.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cocks an eyebrow. “So do you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, I– <em>hey</em>.” He laughs this time, and feels himself start to relax. “Will you ever get tired of doing that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A wolf-like grin. “Will you ever stop falling for it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t seem to stop smiling back. “I’ve missed you, Toph,” he says before he can stop himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To his surprise she doesn’t deflect, or say something sarcastic back. “I missed you, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now <em>that</em> makes his chest feel funny but Sokka barely has time to enjoy it before being hit by the biggest <em>Oh, shit</em> of his life. This can’t be happening to him. It’s so inconvenient. Mere months out of his last relationship and he’s feeling <em>this</em> about his sister’s boyfriend’s former math tutor. Who was just a <em>kid</em> like, <em>yesterday</em> (okay, six years ago). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s officially flustered, head completely empty, but luckily Toph rescues him with a hard topic change. “Are you still planning to go for your master’s next year?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” His brain seizes on the easy question he knows the answer to. “I started the grad courses this year and they’re kicking my ass but I think I’m passing them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles. “I bet you’re more than passing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shrugs modestly. “Yeah, well. I really like this stuff, y’know? So that makes it easy to work hard.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She asks a few more leading questions and they talk about his classes, then her classes, then club soccer, choir, and jiujitsu. By the time they had to leave for the train station, Sokka’s disappointed to look at his phone and realize their time is up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit, we’d better go.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess so.” She stands up and reaches for her jacket and suitcase. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I’ll get that,” he says. To his surprise, she lets him carry her suitcase out to his car, still the same old pickup truck, although he regrets it halfway down the front walk. “Sheesh, what’d you put in here? Rocks?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She snorts and punches his arm. “Yeah, right. Not a lot of time for working out in between doing all that brainy stuff at college huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe not.” He tosses it into the back and leans against the wheel well to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes and walks around to the passenger seat. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. I was just teasing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it was really heavy!” he protests. His heart is still pounding. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure it was.” She really sounds sarcastic, and he wonders if he actually needs to work out more as he climbs into the driver’s seat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The drive to the train station is short, and neither of them speak for the first half. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, Toph says, “How’s Suki doing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka freezes, and waits a little too long to move after a light turns green. “Fine, I guess. It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really? How long?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…A few months.” He rubs the back of his neck. “To be honest I don’t even know if she’s back in town yet.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will you… see each other when she is?” Toph’s facing out the window and her posture is completely casual, but Sokka can feel the weight of her question. The air in the car feels charged, the way it was that one time on the way home from jiujitsu. He wonders if this is going to become A Thing for them– awkward moments in the car. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Probably not,” he admits. “We… ended things at the beginning of the term. For good this time, I think.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls into the circle in front of the train station, but she doesn’t move to get out. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I mean– are you doing okay? Does it feel like it was the right thing?” She turns to face him now, and the cab of the truck suddenly seems even smaller. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t regret it, if that’s what you mean,” he says quietly. “I… yeah, it feels like it was the right thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” she says. “That’s good.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A car honks behind him and they both jump. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’d better go.” He hops out on his side to get her bag. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” She climbs out and meets him on the sidewalk outside the train station. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hesitates after handing the suitcase to her, and then before he can overthink it, leans forward to hug her. She returns it, and he squeezes her tight, marveling how <em>good</em> it feels to hold her, to be reunited with his friend again, even though she’s leaving. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually, they have to part, and as he pulls away their faces brush together and he ends up placing a quick kiss on her cheek. It’s impulsive and sudden and so, so weird but he can’t take it back (not that he really wants to). He watches Toph with a pounding heart wondering if she’ll punch him again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her lips part in shock and she raises a gloved hand halfway to her face, before dropping it. “Sokka…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t let her finish. “Have a safe trip.” Maybe he’s a coward, but whatever she’s going to say, he doesn’t think he’s ready to hear it. “Text me– Or, Katara, when you get there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course.” Her face resets to its usual passivity and she picks up her suitcase, barely fumbling the handle, before heading into the station. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka drives back home in silence, not touching the radio once, and replays the whole interaction over and over until he manages to use his last final to push it away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A week later, when everything goes to hell in a handbasket, they still haven’t talked about it. Sokka’s officially done with school and Toph is back from the city but neither of them have brought up what happened, to each other or (Sokka assumes, since Katara hasn’t been dropping not-so-subtle hints) to anyone else.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And to be honest, Sokka’s fine with that. He’s convinced himself no good will come from complicating his relationship with Toph, if even what he’s feeling is real and not just post-breakup loneliness (which somehow he doubts but that seems even scarier). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t really have the energy for it anyway. The post-finals crash hits him hard and he spends most of the week sleeping or lying on the couch watching bad Netflix specials. Katara shoots him worried looks every so often, but he waves her off, even though he’s becoming a little concerned himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s probably coming down with something, he reasons, and wishes it would just hit him already so he can curl up in bed with jook and Tylenol while Katara mother-hens him. Then at least it would be over and done with instead of this unending, tired, <em>weirdness</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their dad always works a lot this time of year because the overtime is so good, so they celebrate the Winter Solstice by cooking dinner with Toph and Aang. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, Katara cooks. Sokka’s in bed, napping again. He hasn’t felt great all day, although each time Katara’s stuck a thermometer under his tongue the reading has come back frustratingly normal. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually, Sokka gets tired of lying around for no apparent Goddamn reason, so he gets up and stumbles, a little lightheaded, down the hall to the kitchen, which smells like noodles and soy sauce and marinated short ribs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, he’s alive!” Aang says with exaggerated cheerfulness to cover his concern. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara just frowns, lips pursed as she sets four places at the table. “Feeling any better?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shrugs. “Maybe. I guess so.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” She doesn’t look convinced, and to be honest he isn’t either, but despite the poring over her pre-med textbooks he knows she’s been doing, neither of them can definitively say anything’s wrong with him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to the stove to put the water on for some black tea, or maybe instant coffee. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka, where did that come from?” Katara says suddenly, staring at his right arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where did what come from?” He looks down, where his t-shirt has ridden up a bit and notices a large purple bruise forming on his left bicep. “Huh, no idea. Didn’t even feel that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She worries her lower lip. “So you don’t know where it came from?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not a clue.” He looks at the bruise again and laughs. “It’s right in Toph’s Punching Spot, but I promise she’s never hit me <em>that</em> hard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls his shirt sleeve down in a huff. “Of course I’m sure. It’s never bruised before.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thankfully, she lets it go during dinner, and they pass a pleasant enough evening over noodles, bok choy, and pork ribs coated in fermented black bean sauce. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It isn’t until he’s washing dishes with Aang that he feels it, something tickling his upper lip. He raises a soapy finger to brush it away and curses when it comes away red. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit! Shit, shit shit!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it?” Aang looks up from the damp colander in hands and his eyes grow wide. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka keeps cursing and frantically looks around for something with which to dry his hands, and then a paper towel to press to his nose, which is bleeding out of fucking nowhere. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara turns around from where she’s putting away food and her face goes white. “Oh my God.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Calm down, calm down,” Sokka says, although his heart is pounding. Aang hands him another paper towel, because the one in his hand is already soaked through. <em>Fuck, that’s a lot of blood.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God,” Katara says again, taking his shoulders firmly in her hands and guiding him to the table, where Toph is listening to the whole thing, looking confused. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened? What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka has a nosebleed,” Aang says, because Sokka can’t really talk right now and Katara has taken over handing him new folded paper towels, which are soaking through with alarming frequency. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph cocks her head. “Just a nosebleed?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a really bad one,” Katara says quietly, which only scares Sokka more. After a few more minutes and a whole lot of paper towels, she abruptly puts them down. “These aren’t working. I’m going to find a towel.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A what?” Toph looks seriously alarmed, hands half reached across the table like she wants to do something but doesn’t know what. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m fine,” Sokka says through the blood choking the back of his throat, although he’s pretty sure that’s a lie. Things have officially gone from <em>weird</em> to <em>terrifying</em>– he’s never had a nosebleed this bad, and the dizziness is returning along with a pounding headache. He wonders if it’s the blood loss– the bleeding has shown no signs of slowing down, and several times he hasn’t been able to switch paper towels fast enough and now there are drops of blood on his shirt and running down his arm. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara returns with two old towels and a determined expression on her face. Somehow, no one is surprised to hear her say, “I think we should go to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After barely a moment to process the information, Aang leaps into action and reaches for his jacket, tossing Sokka’s to Katara. “We’ll take my car. I’ll drive, you sit in the back with Sokka.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What should I do?” Toph says, her voice usually high, almost plaintive. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara hands the towels to Sokka and he can see her hands shaking. “You can sit in front with Aang and– and call my dad.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ride to the hospital is a blur, and Sokka spends most of it trying not to throw up. He’s swallowed a decent amount of blood at this point, and dizziness combined with the car ride makes him badly motion sick. Only Katara’s hand on his back and her voice in his ear, telling him to breathe and counting to six on the way in, then six on the way out, keeps him from completely freaking out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aang drops them off at the door to the emergency room before leaving to find parking while Katara helps him inside. The bloody towels get the attention of the nurses pretty quickly so they don’t have to wait long to see someone. Sokka lets himself be led away while Katara fishes through his wallet for insurance cards. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rejoins him an indeterminate amount of time later, after which time his nose has been “packed,” which feels about as good as it sounds, and the bleeding has stopped. He’s got an IV of fluids going into his arm, and is all around feeling a little calmer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m fine,” he says, sitting up on the hard bed and embracing her with his free arm. “It’s all going to be fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She just holds him tight and says, “Dad’s on his way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” He pulls away. “Can’t he just meet us at home? The bleeding stopped and I’m getting fluids for dehydration or whatever, so we won’t be here too much longer, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks doubtful, but doesn’t have a chance to reply before they’re interrupted by the doctor. “Sokka Tartak?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s me,” he raises the hand with the IV. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m Dr. Zeng.” The doctor looks pointedly at Katara. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is my sister,” he says. “She can stay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dr. Zeng nods and looks down at her chart. “I’m glad to see we’ve stopped the bleeding.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah–” Sokka starts to say, but Katara interrupts him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s not the only thing,” she says anxiously. “He’s been tired, like <em>really</em> tired, for weeks now, and dizzy, but not feverish, plus he’s bruising easily–”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Katara</em>,” Sokka whines. At this rate they’ll never get out of here. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dr. Zeng looks back at him. “Is that all accurate?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean– yeah.” He looks down. “But I feel fine otherwise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dr. Zeng nods. “That’s good. We’re just going to run a few blood tests and then hopefully have you right out of here, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara doesn’t look satisfied, but Sokka nods eagerly. “Okay. Yes.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their father arrives a little while after a nurse comes to draw blood and remove the sponges from his nose. Katara fills him in while they wait for the results. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka only half-listens (he was there for the whole thing, anyway) and fiddles with his phone to distract himself. He has a few texts, one from Aang (<em>Hope you’re feeling better</em>) and one from Toph, <em>Aang took me home after your dad showed up. What’s going on? How are you doing?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Okay,</em> he writes back. <em>Got blood drawn and we’re just waiting around for the results</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Katara still freaking out?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glances up, where Katara is brushing anxious tears away and leaning into Dad’s shoulder. <em>Yeah, kind of. </em>He hesitates, then writes, <em>I think she’s been reading too many pre-med textbooks. She’s definitely thinking something she’s not telling me</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Any idea what it is???</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>No. </em>Honestly, he’s kind of afraid to ask. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t get a chance to read her reply when Dr. Zeng returns with the results. Katara asks a ton of questions, and she and the doctor start throwing around a lot of terminology. Sokka hasn’t taken any biology since high school, but he knows this conversation has gone on way too long to end in a, ‘You’re fine, and you’re free to go home now.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually, he forces himself to focus through the mounting anxiety to hear the Cliff’s Notes version of what Dr. Zeng has to say. “Basically, your blood is made up of three things,” she says. “Red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. Your counts for all of these are abnormally low. That plus the other symptoms you’ve been experiencing indicates a type of anemia, but we’d like to do a bone marrow biopsy to make a firm diagnosis.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Dad says at the barest hint of a question. “We’d like to do that– one of those. When can that happen?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right now, if Sokka is willing,” Dr. Zeng says. “Or, as soon as he finishes the IV. I’d like his blood pressure to be up a little bit more before I get the hematologist in here.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re all looking at him and suddenly Sokka remembers– he’s technically an adult here. Legally capable of making his own medical decisions. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever you think is best,” he says, not sure who he’s really talking to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dr. Zeng nods. “This way we’ll be able to get results to you in a couple of days, and hopefully a diagnosis so we can refer you to a specialist and figure out a treatment plan as soon as possible.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Feeling numb, Sokka nods. A diagnosis. That sounds good. He likes answers. “Okay. Yeah, let’s do it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great.” Dr. Zeng clicks her pen and writes something down. “After that we’ll send you home, but if you were planning on going somewhere or having some sort of gathering for the holidays, I would strongly advise you to reconsider. Like I said, your white blood cells, which normally fight germs for you, are pretty low right now so you’re vulnerable to infections.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We won’t be going anywhere,” Dad says. “And it’s just us for the holidays.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perfect.” Dr. Zeng takes a look at his IV bag, which is almost empty. “I’ll have a nurse come by in a little bit to prepare you for the biopsy, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” Sokka collapses back onto the bed after he leaves, feeling dizzy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara comes and sits by him, rubbing his shoulder and saying something about how it’s all going to be okay, even though he can tell she’s trying not to cry. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Aplastic anemia</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words rattle around in his head until they begin to lose their meaning. Not that they had much meaning before. Katara has explained it to him in truly excruciating detail multiple times now, but to be honest he’s having a hard time taking it all in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The past few days have been a bit of a whirlwind of phone calls, doctor’s appointments, and all around a lot of Serious Conversations. It’s exhausting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then again, <em>life</em> is exhausting to Sokka right now. His symptoms, now identified, are impossible to ignore. Fatigue is definitely the worst and most frustrating one. It’s the kind of soul-crushing, bone-deep exhaustion that is impossible to push through and when not participating in a Serious Conversation, he’s usually sleeping or trying to sleep. Which honestly, is far preferable to being awake most of the time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dad and Katara are treating him like glass, constantly asking him how he feels, checking his temperature, and having tense, whispered conversations in the next room over when they think he can’t hear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His one (1) escape is texting with Toph. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Upon coming home after that first night at the ER, he fell asleep for over twelve hours and missed about a million messages from her, each one less comprehensible than the last as her dictation software began to fail the faster and more angrily she spoke. The next morning, he promised to keep her updated, because apparently Katara cannot be trusted not to soften the truth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Well, the truth is kinda grim</em>, he writes a few days after the ER visit, after meeting with one of the specialists Dr. Zeng recommended. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s silent for a few minutes, then replies, <em>Okay I’m ready now. Just give it to me straight.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tells her, although he still has to double check the spelling first. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>A plastic what? </em>she says. <em>Just kidding, sorry. My screenreader had no idea what to do with that one</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs, then presses a hand to his face in wonder to feel the first genuine smile he’s had in… days, it seems like. He replies, <em>That might become a pattern</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>So what does it mean?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Well Katara would explain it better, but basically your bone marrow is what makes blood cells and stuff, and I guess mine has decided it just doesn’t feel like doing that anymore.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>…Shit. Do they know why it happened?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Nope. The Dr. said it’s called ‘idiopathic.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Jeez what does that mean?  </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>As far as I can tell, exactly what it sounds like. That my body’s just being an idiot.</em> He pauses, then adds, <em>Again,</em> <em>ask Katara for the real definition</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Nah, I think I get it</em>, she says. Then, <em>I’m sorry by the way. That sounds like it really sucks</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows, throat growing tight as he realizes the extent of what is happening for like, the millionth time that day. <em>Yeah,</em> he says. <em>It’s pretty much the worst</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s quiet for a while, and he almost falls asleep, but then the three dots appear again. <em>So… what’s the game plan?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Probably a bone marrow transplant, as long as Katara’s a match. </em>He thinks for a minute, then decides to put his worst fears on the record. Things he can’t tell Dad or Katara, because they’d just get upset and tell him not to think that way. <em>If she’s not, I might be screwed because apparently that’s my best shot at making it through this thing. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s silent for a long time again, and he thinks maybe he went too far, but eventually she says, <em>The universe really does have it out for you, huh?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t stop another chuckle, and wonders what kind of magic Toph’s working to make him laugh twice in one hour, but says, <em>It seriously does. Idk what I did in a previous life to deserve this</em>. <em>Something horrible, probably.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I bet you were a straight-up murderer, </em>she says, <em>Or a cab driver who tried to rip off blind chicks</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he weren’t so tired, he’d laugh at that one too, but as it is he just smiles. <em>Definitely the latter, </em>he says. <em>Way worse. (Also if I stop responding it’s because I fell asleep.)</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh, sorry. I guess I should stop bothering you, shouldn’t I?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Please don’t</em>, he responds immediately. <em>You’re the only person whose bothering I can tolerate rn. Worst case scenario I have texts from you to read when I wake up</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Worst case,’ huh?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>No,</em> he admits. <em>Best case. That’s the best case scenario</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Gotta look for those when we can these days, don’t we</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yeah,</em> he says. <em>Definitely</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To Sokka’s mild surprise, that Christmas is not the worst one he has ever experienced. To be fair, none of the Christmases in their household have been much to speak of since Mom died, but Dad and Katara try <em>particularly </em>hard this year. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets a new shoulder bag from Katara and bluetooth headphones from Dad, but his favorite present by far is a blood transfusion courtesy of Gaoling Memorial Hospital, which works like fucking <em>magic</em> and has him feeling almost normal for Christmas Day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a little while, Sokka can pretend his entire world hasn’t been turned upside down, that his bone marrow hasn’t randomly stopped working, and there is no threat of sudden death via mild infection hanging over his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unfortunately, the effects wear off pretty quickly and he’s stuck on the couch half-asleep again by the time they receive the <em>actual</em> best, belated Christmas present: that Katara is a match and can be the donor for his transplant. He wakes up to her squealing and tears of joy as she hugs Dad and then him, carefully, without lifting him too far from the couch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things begin to move rather quickly after that: appointments scheduled and timelines established. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Most of them are for Katara at first, which is surprising to him until she explains that apparently it’s a whole process to prepare her body for the collection, which will probably have to happen over multiple days. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t like thinking about that. He hates the idea Katara will have to <em>go through</em> anything for his stupid disease, but he doesn’t dare tell her that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he tells Toph. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>The medication they’re giving her is causing really bad headaches</em>, he says. <em>She says the ibuprofen helps but I can tell it still hurts.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Is she doing that thing where she tries to distract you by asking super nicely how you’re doing instead?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Lol yeah, every time. </em>He’s on the couch again, currently tangled in no less than five (5) blankets, one for each time he’s asked Katara how she’s doing today. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Isn’t she just the worst?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can almost hear the sarcasm. <em>Just terrible</em>. He plays along. <em>Worst sister ever.</em> Then he looks up at Katara, sitting at the kitchen table with her hands pressed to her temples as she tries to work through the pain over her MCAT study book, and feels bad. <em>Actually though, I can’t even express how grateful I am for everything she’s doing. She understands the doctors way better than Dad or I do, and is so patient explaining everything over and over again.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I bet she kind of enjoys that last part,</em> Toph says. <em>Besides the fact that it’s about you and all– it’s kind of like she gets to be a doctor already.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yeah</em>. Sokka grins at the memory of an appointment a few days ago. <em>You should’ve seen her with the hematologist the other day. With a pen and paper out taking notes and everything.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Lol I can picture it. Except the ‘hema-something’ part. What is that?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>A blood doctor.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Cool,</em> she says. <em>Your blood’s so special it gets its own doctor. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Oh yeah, I guess so!</em> Sokka decides not to mention that his hematologist is also an oncologist. Because apparently this thing is close enough to cancer the same guy treats both. It’s another thing he does his best not to think about too much. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the beginning of January, Katara hangs a calendar in the middle of the kitchen with the dates of every appointment marked out in color-coded sharpie. The first dates underlined and circled are <em>Collection Days</em>, which is when she has her longest appointments so her stem cells can be harvested. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dad goes with her to those, and Sokka wishes he could go too, but when the days roll around he’s too tired and headachey to leave the house, besides the fact that both Dad and Katara insist there are too many germs at the outpatient clinic with his immune system the way that it is– which is to say, absolute shit. Bato even wears a surgical mask when he comes over to take care of him in the meantime, which Sokka hates with the strength of a thousand suns. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not that he can tell Bato. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It makes me feel like an invalid,</em> he says, glad Toph can’t hear his actual voice, which he suspects would sound very close to whining. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I hate to break it to you, </em>she says, <em>but that’s not totally inaccurate</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh come on not you too.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Hey what am I here for if not brutal honesty</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I know,</em> he says. <em>I’m sorry</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Don’t apologize,</em> she says. <em>It’s just something you’re going to have to face sooner or later. You’re sick, people are going to treat you accordingly. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t lie, that hurts to read a little bit. Not because he doesn’t feel it– he does. The way he’s too tired to do anything but sleep most days, dizziness when he stands up, bleeding gums when he brushes his teeth. But it still hurts to admit, and for the truth to be delivered so bluntly, straight to his face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t respond for so long that she texts again, <em>Sorry. It’s not your fault, you know. And even if it was, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. All the help you’re getting, the extra steps everyone around you is taking, it means they care.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I know.</em> Goddammit, he knows. He knows every time Katara gives him another blanket or cup of tea, or his dad sits through ‘Ratatouille’ with him for the millionth time because he’s too tired to process anything else. He knows every time Toph texts when she knows he’s fallen asleep, so he can wake up to brand new messages. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It’s still lonely though, isn’t it,</em> she says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns. <em>What do you mean?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You know,</em> she says, even though he clearly doesn’t. He watches the three bouncing dots while she dictates. <em>Everyone around you, they’re doing all this stuff because they care, to show you you’re not alone in this, even though you are.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t respond, understanding dawning slowly as he realizes what she’s saying– why he feels so isolated even when Dad and Katara are on either side of him on the couch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>No one else around you can really feel what you’re feeling right now,</em> Toph says, just as he thinks it. <em>You’re all alone in going through what you are, and no matter how you slice it nothing will change that and it really, really sucks. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yes,</em> he says, glad she can’t hear the way his voice would probably crack. <em>That’s it, exactly. How did you know?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her reply is arch, amused, and makes him feel very stupid. <em>Hmm,</em> she says. <em>Something about being treated like a precious crystal vase for most of my childhood. Or being dependent on other people for my entire life.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Shit</em>, he says, because at first he can’t think of anything else to say. <em>I didn’t forget this time, I swear. I just… didn’t think of it like that</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It’s alright</em>, she says. <em>I kind of like that about you, actually</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite himself, that makes him bite his lip and smile at his phone for so long Bato asks him what he’s looking at. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing.” He closes the messaging app and puts it aside. “When are Dad and Katara supposed to be back?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the much-anticipated Collection Days, Katara’s calendar is abruptly and ignominiously ruined. The next circled and underlined days mark the beginning of pre-transplant conditioning, honestly the part that scares him the most because it starts with literal chemotherapy, like a real cancer patient would get, and ends in full-body irradiation and what promises to be a lengthy hospital stay. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So luckily, or really really unluckily, the whole thing is delayed when he wakes up with a low fever that wouldn’t’ve made anyone blink six weeks ago, but now results in a frantic trip to the hospital where he receives IV antibiotics and another transfusion to head off an infection.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To everyone’s collective sigh of relief, he bounces back pretty quickly given the circumstances, but the end result is that the chemo isn’t set to begin until the day Katara is supposed to go back to college.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I won’t go,” she declares after they hang up the phone and a new calendar with color-coded dates (this time in erasable pen) is hung ceremoniously in the kitchen. “I’ll take the semester off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Katara…” Sokka groans, too tired to deal with this shit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not sure that will be necessary,” Dad says, much more calmly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t leave,” she says. “Not <em>now</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure you can,” Sokka says from where he’s lounging at the kitchen table. It almost feels normal, the three of them sitting like this, except no one’s bothering to correct his posture. “Your blood’s perfectly fine. Not acting idiotic at all.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No one cracks a smile– it’s a joke only Toph has found funny so far, but damn if he’ll ever stop telling it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara crosses her arms. “I have to be here,” she says again. “You’ll need me. To help take care of him during the chemo.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Katara,” Dad says in a slow, measured tone she’s clearly growing to hate but Sokka is beginning to find strangely comforting, “Yes, the chemo will be challenging, but it’s only for a few days and after that he’ll be in the hospital. You won’t be able to do anything but worry here alone while he’s there and I have to work. After that, the worst of it should be over in a few weeks and you could miss the rest of your term for nothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not for nothing!” she says. “He could still need me– <em>you</em> could still need me. I can’t abandon you guys if anything happens–” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean if something goes wrong and I suddenly croak,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Both of them turn to him with horrified looks on their faces, which he only feels a little bad for relishing. That’ll teach them to talk about him like he’s not even here.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dad sighs. “Sokka–”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he shrugs. “We were all thinking it.” Katara looks ready to give him a what-for so he holds up a hand to head her off. “Look, this thing has already fucked up my education,” he tries to hide a wince– the sting of submitting his leave of absence paperwork still hasn’t gone away, “I don’t want it to fuck up yours, too.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That gives her pause, and he can see the wheels in her head start to turn. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dad leans forward and puts a hand on her arm. “If you really think it’ll be the best thing for you, I won’t stop you from taking the semester off. <em>But</em>,” he waits for her to look him in the eyes, “before you make any decisions, allow me to say, and I think Sokka would agree with me here, that we would like you to make them for <em>you</em>, and not because you think it’ll be better for <em>us</em>. You deserve that much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara goes quiet, staring at her hands under the table. “I would like to stay for the chemo, at least. You’ll need my help, Dad, and I can email my professors so I don’t fall too far behind in the meantime. I’ll leave after that, but you have to promise to call me every day,” she says. “<em>Promise</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course,” Dad says. “And the good news is you won’t be far away, so I can come get you or Aang could drive you back if anything happens or you just want to visit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or you could just take my truck,” Sokka says. “Then you can come back whenever you want.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka…” Her eyes fill with tears and he realizes what she’s thinking before she can say it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just for the semester,” he says quickly. “I’m definitely taking it back when all this is over.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and tries to smile, rubbing her eyes with her hands. “You’d better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t ask him to promise, and for that Sokka is grateful. He’s not sure he’d be able to resist. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To be honest, the exact reasoning behind the chemo remains unclear to Sokka up to and including the day it starts. But at the outpatient clinic, Katara takes advantage of the fact that he’s a completely captive audience to explain using diagrams and everything that all the stem cells that used to make his blood, along with what’s left of his immune system, have to be completely and totally obliterated before they can be replaced with hers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Which will be a relief for everyone</em>, he texts Toph that evening. <em>Like I keep saying, Katara’s stem cells have always been smarter than mine, anyway. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>We always knew this</em>, she says. <em>Now we just have proof.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins. <em>Ngl I kinda wish ‘proof’ involved little less people sticking me with needles. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>:( I’m sorry,</em> she says, including a rare emoji. <em>Busy day?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yeah,</em> he says. <em>But I couldn’t give you all the details if you asked. Too many big words and I can’t even spell Katara’s translations</em>. He’s alone in his bedroom again, Katara’s in the kitchen figuring out how much coursework she can do remotely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Big Word Translation’s overrated</em>, Toph says. <em>How are you feeling (in small words only)?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs and for the first time that day is not annoyed by that question (which he has already answered about a million times today between Katara all afternoon and Dad when he came home from work). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Short words he can definitely do at this point, and with Toph he’s inclined to be honest. <em>Tired (what else is new). Nauseous (0/10 do not recommend chemo drugs). Happy to be talking to you.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Me too (to the last thing). </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles at his phone for a truly ridiculous amount of time at that, and tries to maintain the lighthearted tone. <em>You know one (1) fun thing I got to do this week?  </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Ooh, do tell. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Produced a semen sample to freeze down for later. ‘Cause apparently sperm really hate chemo &amp; radiation.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>HA I bet that was fun. </em>There’s a pause, and he waits while she dictates more. <em>I guess this means you’ll get to be way sluttier when you go back to college</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Lol yeah. Girls are definitely going to be super attracted to the borderline underweight and hairless aesthetic</em>. He tries to joke about it, but honestly besides the fact that returning to college means that he will have lived through this he’s not super looking forward to the prospect. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s already having a terrible time trying to articulate why he won’t be coming back this year to his college friends and the few professors who have asked. How do you explain that you have a rare disease that’s not cancer, but kind of gets treated like cancer, that happened out of nowhere for reasons even doctors can’t explain?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He even has a text from Suki, <em>I heard what happened and I’m so sorry. Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He still hasn’t responded, left on read with a dozen other similar messages from various friends and acquaintances. He isn’t sure what grapevine they’re getting their information from, although he suspects it starts with Aang or Katara, some of the most social people he knows. He doesn’t really mind. At least it spares him the effort of repeating The Origin Story, as he’s begun to think of it, over and over again. With the unfortunate side effect (heh) of exponentially increasing the <em>how are you doing</em> texts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Out of (bad) habit, he clicks over to Suki’s instagram, which is currently populated with pictures of her snowboarding with some of her sorority sisters. Judging by the timestamp of the latest group selfie, in the lodge next to a roaring fireplace, she’s probably still there. Against his better judgment, he lets his mind wander to how things would be different if they hadn’t broken up. Would he be texting her right now instead of Toph? Would she be here taking care of him with Katara? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head and swipes back to her text, thumbs hovering over the keyboard to answer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then he gets another text from Toph and he clicks away. <em>Oh yeah, I heard Katara shaved your head. Do you look like Aang now?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You bet, </em>he says. <em>A shorter, browner, more handsome Aang</em>. <em>Complete with one of his beanies. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Haha really? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yep. Early Transplant Day gift. I’d send you a selfie but. You know. Plus I look like shit anyway. </em>He doesn’t have a mirror handy but he’s pretty sure that’s the case. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s quiet for a few minutes, then says, <em>You always look good to me</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His face grows hot despite the joke, and he wonders if this would be another awkward moment if they were sitting in his car instead of texting. It makes him think of the last time he drove her anywhere– to the train station, right before he got sick. He still physically cringes when he remembers the cheek kiss, even though there are so many other things to worry about now. They never did get around to talking about that. Now definitely doesn’t seem like the right time, but given the circumstances who can say if there will ever be a right time? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That line of thought turns morbid very quickly and he tries to redirect. <em>Toph, how do I respond to Suki’s text asking if there’s anything I need?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can almost hear her beleaguered sigh when he falls back on Suki to avoid talking about real things. But it turns out to be a not entirely unpleasant evening as she half-encourages, half-bullies him into responding to everyone who’s reached out until he falls asleep. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All in all, the chemo isn’t as bad as Sokka was afraid it would be, although he’s glad Katara’s there, especially when the nausea kicks it up a notch to actual vomiting, which quickly turns into dry retching. By the third and thankfully final day, the only thing he can stomach is jook with zero fixings, which amuses Katara to no end, probably because there’s very little else to find amusing about the situation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I remember when you were a kid and wouldn’t touch this stuff without at least soy sauce and peanuts,” she says, collapsing exhausted onto the foot of his bed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Different times,” he says, which is the understatement of the Goddamn century. He eats a hesitant half spoonful of rice. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Once, we didn’t have any peanuts and Mom tried to fool you by using cashews instead,” she says, smiling up at the ceiling. “Didn’t work, of course. She ended up sending Dad to the grocery store at like ten at night.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows another spoonful and closes his eyes, willing it to stay down. “You make it like she did,” he says, too tired to avoid conversations about Mom like he usually does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks.” Katara audibly swallows, then rolls onto her side to face him. “What do you think she’d say? If she were here now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” Another swallow of rice. “She’d probably be beating herself up as much as you are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’re you talking about?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know what you keep asking yourself,” he says. “Whether you could’ve done anything different. If you could’ve protected me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent this,” he says, because he has to get it out there. “And if I… if this doesn’t work–”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Sokka–</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“–you have to promise not to blame yourself, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka–”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just promise. Both you and Dad. It’s not your fault.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face pinches, and she crawls up to sit next to him against the headboard. He throws an arm around her and she wraps hers around his chest, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks.” He sets the bowl on his bedside table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She frowns. “Are you sure you don’t want more of that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I’ll probably throw up again if I eat anymore.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs, and reluctantly lets go before getting up to clear the dishes. “Try to drink some more water at least, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” His phone vibrates and he picks it up. It’s a message from Toph and he smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s that from?” Katara says from the doorway. “Suki?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” He presses it facedown on the duvet, even though she can’t see. “No.” Suki hasn’t responded since he texted her back, <em>Thanks, I’m doing okay right now</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then who?” Katara raises an eyebrow. “You only used to smile at your phone like that when Suki texted.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Really?</em> “Did not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did too.” Katara leans forward. “So? Who was it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“None of your business.” He scoots further under the covers, pulling the pillows down behind him, like he’s going to go to sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, fine.” She rolls her eyes and pushes off the doorframe. “Keep your secrets.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will, thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gets the light. “Goodnight, Sokka.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s barely four in the afternoon, but he plays along. “Goodnight, Katara.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next morning after he checks into the hospital, she hugs him so tightly he thinks he might choke. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Be good,” she tells him. “Do everything to doctors tell you to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Behind her, Sokka sees Dad roll his eyes, and has to resist the urge to do the same. “I will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Text me anytime you want, if you need anything at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls away, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “Keep me updated?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles. “Yeah.” The nurse behind her clears his throat and Sokka removes her hands. The ward he’s in has very strict visiting hours and they’re about to overstay their welcome. “Katara, I’m going to be okay,” he says, with as much conviction as he can manage. “Remember what the doctor said– I’m one of the lucky ones.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It had seemed like an absurd statement at the time– it certainly doesn’t feel lucky to be diagnosed with a disease less than a thousand other people in the country get per year– but mostly to keep himself from going insane Sokka’s beginning to cling to all the things about his situation that gave him hope. That he’s young, otherwise healthy, and most importantly has a matched sibling bone marrow donor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And that’s because of you, Katara.” He squeezes her hands between them. “You’ve already saved my life, like, a million times, and you’re about to do it again. No problem.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, but when she blinks her eyelashes are wet so he hugs her one more time before they leave, down the twisting, off-white hallways of the hospital away from his room. He gets it all to himself, and tries not to think about how expensive it is, because Dad has insisted over and over again that he shouldn’t worry about money. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath while the nurse takes his temperature and blood pressure, and waits for it all to begin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Day 3/?? and I officially don’t like this hospital thing.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh yeah? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>The walls are too white. And it always smells wired.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Wired?’ How does a place smell ‘wired?’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Weird. Shut up you know what I mean. I’m tired. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>You’re always tired. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Meaniw.</em> Sokka’s finger slips and he fumbles to correct himself. <em>*Meanie. It got worse. Didn’t know that was possible but it was</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>How?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Turnw out radaition therapy’s a bitvj. Bigxh. Shit. </em>Fuck, he really can’t type right now. He’s probably giving Toph’s screenreader a run for its money. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes a while for her to respond, probably figuring out what the fuck he’s trying to say, but she finally says, <em>Would it be easier to call? I just got back to my dorm.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Probably</em>. He doesn’t wait for her to do it, just finds the ‘call’ button and puts his phone on speaker next to his head on the pillow while it rings. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It sounds like you should be asleep,” she says, and dammit if her voice isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s heard all day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t,” he says. “It’s too bright outside. And the blinds here suck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” He hears her white cane clicking against the floor in the background, then the bounce of springs as she sits down on her bed. “How much radiation are you supposed to get again? Enough to turn you into a superhero?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He groans dramatically. “Comic books lied to me, Toph. I have a sneaking suspicion that’s not actually what radiation does.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Damn,” she says. “Well at least it isn’t making you less sarcastic.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’ll never take that from me,” he says. “I’ll stop being sarcastic when I’m dead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She goes quiet, and Sokka reminds himself (again) he needs to stop making jokes about his own death. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When’s Transplant Day again?” she asks eventually. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He squints at the calendar on his phone. “Day after tomorrow. Just one more day of this radiation bullshit.” He’s convinced this is worse than the chemo. Less vomiting (although he did throw up after the first session yesterday), but more headaches and fatigue, plus his skin itches everywhere, like a bad sunburn. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ll make it,” Toph says. “I believe in you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks.” He rolls onto his side. “Got another session this afternoon, and they let me play music during. Got any recs?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” She thinks for a second. “<em>Harmony Hall</em>, Vampire Weekend. <em>Caring is Creepy</em>, The Shins.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Those both sound depressing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anything by Billie Eilish.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Also depressing.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been listening to a lot of depressing music lately, sue me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me too,” he says. “I wonder why.” He puts the songs on his playlist anyway, because depressing or no, Toph’s taste in music is unmatched. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>HAPPY TRANSPLANT DAY!! </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Happy transplant day &lt;33</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Good luck :) :) </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Happy Transplant Day, thinking of you </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Happy Transplant Dayyyy </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Happy Transplant Day- good luck</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Good luck, happy transplant day</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka wakes up to a dozen or more similar messages the morning he’s set to receive an infusion of Katara’s stem cells, but he only responds to one: <em>Happy transplant day, aka the day you finally become a little more like Katara. I think I speak for all of us when I say THANK GOD</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Toph, you have to help me name my central line.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>…What the actual fuck, Sokka?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>It’s a tube sticking out of my chest, like another organ. You have to help me name it. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>God, you’re so weird. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Am not. Help me name it. </em>He can’t tell if he’s feeling a little high from the sheer amount of drugs he’s on right now (he lost track of the actual number weeks ago), or just giddy because if everything goes well, today is the beginning of the end. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>No. You’re weird about naming things.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Am not!!! </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Are so. Aang told me you have a stuffed moose called Foo-Foo-Cuddly-Poops. What were you thinking? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Omg I was a kid!!!! And how does Aang know about that??</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>How do you think?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’m gonna kill her. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oof. Take your sister’s bone marrow and get rid of her when she’s no longer useful. That’s cold.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’m a cold person. The radiation killed all my sentimentality. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Suuuure. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>It’s true. I totally didn’t cry a little when I realized Dad and Katara were visiting today. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Katara’s back in town? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Are you kidding? She wouldn’t miss this for the world. Plus it’ll probably be their last chance for a little while. Isolation, and all. </em>That’s probably his least favorite thing about the hospital (in a very, very long list of least favorite things)– the fact that he can barely see anyone due to the risk of infection, which will be even higher after today while they wait for the graft to take (if it takes). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I suppose so. </em>A pause. <em>I wish I could be there, too</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thought makes his chest ache. <em>Me, too</em>. <em>It’s been forever since I’ve seen your face</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For once, she doesn’t make a blind joke at the reference to sight. <em>So hurry up and get better so I can meet you when you get home</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heart picks up in excitement. <em>You promise?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Of course.</em> Her response is quick. <em>I promise</em>. <em>Just don’t leave me hanging, okay?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Wouldn’t dream of it. </em>Sokka smiles and sits up a little straighter, watching the clock tick closer to visiting hours. Even the same old trees outside his window look better today. He’s got a good feeling about this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Transplant day is Day 0, and after that Sokka gets to start counting up. Rationally, he understands that this is the real waiting game part of the process, but he still wonders why it has to take so long. He now has what he was missing before, right? So why does he still feel like so much shit? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He throws up a few times on Days +1 and +2, which is super frustrating because he’s been steadily losing weight since this all began and if he hears one more word about a feeding tube he’s going to… well he’s not sure what he’s going to do. His options in terms of <em>doing things </em>have been pretty limited for a while. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On Day +3 he just sleeps, too tired to even respond to a text from Toph, <em>It snowed so hard yesterday they cancelled classes. Katara told me how pretty everything looks, but I know you’d describe it better</em>. <em>Let me know when you wake up</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On Day +5 he gets an infection and loses track of days. Luckily, when he feels lucid again and texts Katara, <em>What day is it?</em> she knows better than to say, ‘Tuesday.’ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Day +8. Feeling better?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yeah</em>. Honestly, from the amount of time he’s sure she spends on the phone with his doctor, she probably knows more about how he’s feeling than he does. In any case, he’s better at remembering stuff when he hears it from her rather than a doctor or nurse. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s certainly in a better position to keep track of the days, because after two more infections and the addition of an oxygen tube under his nose he loses track of time again and misses Day +15, which they were told was the earliest the graft could take. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Day +17</em>, she says. <em>Nothing yet, but there’s still time</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He imagines her sitting in her campus apartment staring at a gel pen-covered calendar, marking the days in neat, precise, Katara Fashion. He remembers the snow wonders if she and Aang had a snowball fight, or if she said she couldn’t because she was too worried about him. He hopes not. As long as he’s known her, which is her entire life and practically all of his, winter has been her favorite season and one of the reasons is snow. When they were kids, Mom liked to tell the story of the first time she put Baby Katara in the snow, expecting her to cry like Sokka had but instead watching her <em>laugh</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s been thinking about his mom a lot these days, which is both out of character and horribly clichéd. In his more pessimistic moments, he hopes it’s not some sort of omen that means he’s going to see her again soon, but in more optimistic ones he pictures her sitting next to him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tries to imagine what she’d say, but nothing really comes to him. Katara might have some ideas, if he had the energy to ask. Despite being younger when she died, Katara was always better at that sort of thing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Mom’s blurry, imaginary face just looks back at him in silence, but for some reason he finds that comforting. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By a weird coincidence, Day +22 falls on his 22nd birthday, and he wakes up to even more texts than usual, including a bunch that have built up over the last few days. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The longest one is from Toph, sent almost three days ago. <em>Hey, Sokka. You haven’t been answering these, and I know that’s probably because you’re not feeling very well, and that’s okay. I just noticed the date today and remembered something. I think she’ll be cool with me telling you this, but back in December Katara was planning a surprise party for you this year. She knew you were upset about Suki, and she’d started saving up to treat you to something really nice. We were all going to drive to your apartment at college and surprise you. I’m not sure why I’m telling you now, because obviously that didn’t work out and everything’s kind of a bummer, but I can’t sleep and I’m hoping this will help. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He has to scroll down for more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Anyway, I still thought maybe I could surprise you, even though it’s not your birthday yet. Last month you said it’s been a while since you’ve seen my face, so I had my roommate take these for you this afternoon. I hope they’re okay. She said I looked good, anyway</em>.<em> You’ll have to tell me if she’s lying. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Below are three pictures of her, taken in low light in her dorm room with her crappy camera phone, but Sokka thinks they might be the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. The first is a close-up of her face, her mouth turned up in her signature smirk, although he can tell it’s a little forced. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second two are more zoomed out so he can see her outfit– dark green cargo pants plus a black or navy long-sleeved shirt, and the unmade bed behind her. She’s sitting at her desk half-lit by the sunlight coming in from the window, and in the middle one her face is serious, clearly concentrating hard at looking straight at the camera. He can see her eyes in that one– grey-green and a little unfocused, and they make his breath catch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the last one is his favorite. Her roommate must’ve made her laugh, because her head’s a little blurry where she’s gone to tilt it back like she always does when she laughs, and her smile is genuine and wide. It makes him want to laugh too, but he settles for a grin and shallow chuckle. His fingers brush his phone screen as if he could actually feel her skin, and he thinks of the awkward cheek kiss for the first time without cringing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Your roommate wasn’t lying</em>, he replies, hoping she isn’t in class so she can hear it soon. <em>These are really good</em>. He’d like to say <em>beautiful</em> but he has a feeling that would be too much for right now. <em>Thank you so much. Best birthday present ever</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She writes back, <em>You’re welcome. Happy actual birthday today. I’m glad you like them. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I love them.</em> And then, because he can’t help himself, <em>You always look good to me</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t reply for a long time, so long that he gets nervous that he’s gone too far, but then she says, <em>Want to call right now? I haven’t heard your voice in a while</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Sure</em>, he says. He’s not sure what his voice will sound like right now, but Dad and Katara are visiting later so maybe this will be good practice. He picks up on the first ring and positions the mic close to his mouth so he doesn’t have to talk too loud. “Hey, Toph.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Happy birthday,” she says. “As much as it can be, I guess.” She sounds a little sad, like even she’s struggling to muster her usual cheerfulness after all this time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Definitely a memorable one,” he says. “More so than my twenty-first, anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs. A quiet, almost wistful laugh. “I bet you don’t remember much of that one, do you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope,” he says. “Some of my friends from the soccer team took me downtown. It gets pretty fuzzy after the third bar we went to, but I’m told it was a good night. Apparently there was karaoke involved.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Always a recipe for a good time.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not if you have to listen to me,” he says. “I have a terrible singing voice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs again. “I bet you do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh shut up, former <em>choir girl</em>,” he says, although he’s smiling, too. “Not all of us can have perfect pitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve heard it must be the blind thing,” she says. “Means I have better ears.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, that makes sense,” he says. “When one sense goes away the others get stronger.” He pauses, thinking about it. “Do you think any part of me will be stronger after this? Or is it just all downhill from here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s quiet for a minute. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sokka,” she says. “You’re the strongest person I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Katara says that,” he says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure, but I really mean it,” she says. “And I don’t just mean for everything that’s going on right now. I mean you always were, and nothing that’s happened in the past few months has changed that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That makes his throat feel tight, and it’s a little while before he can speak again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka?” she says a little louder. “Did you fall asleep?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” he whispers. “I’m still here. Thank you.” He shifts a little in bed, rearranging himself among all the various tubes and wires connected to him, and clears his throat. “For everything. You don’t… I’ll never be able to say how much I appreciate it.” He takes a breath, keeps going. “I know it can’t have been easy, being There For Me this whole time, so you might be the strongest person I know, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She falls silent again, but he’s patient. “It’s not that hard,” she says. “To be There For You, I mean. Emotionally– sometimes, I’ll admit,” she amends. “But it’s an easy choice to make. 10/10 would make again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You would?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She huffs. “Well, here’s hoping it’s not necessary for too much longer, but yes. I like… I want you to be happy, as much as I have control over that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You always make me happy,” he says, because there’s no point in denying it. “Even right now on– let’s face it– the worst birthday ever, I’m happy I got to talk to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad,” she says. “Me, too.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That evening, after a long visit from his family, he falls asleep feeling better than he has in a long time, then wakes up on Day +23 to the news that finally, <em>finally</em> his blood counts are going up, which means the transplant worked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His release date is set for the following week to let his lungs get a little stronger, and Katara comes back for the occasion, sitting in the backseat with him on the car ride home. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He still feels tired, wrung out like an old dishrag with barely anything left inside, but in a good way. A <em>relieved</em> way. After so long in the hospital, the world outside the car is mesmerizing and he can’t look away, even to answer all Dad and Katara’s questions about how he feels. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Amazing,” he keeps saying over and over again because he can’t think of another word. “I feel amazing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s no surprise that Aang is there when he gets home, having returned with Katara for moral support, but Toph sitting on the other side of the stoop is a surprise, until he belatedly remembers that she promised to meet him there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stumbles getting out of the car in his haste to greet her, pushing away hands from his dad and Katara to meet her on the front walk. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, Sokk– <em>ah!</em>” She squeals as he throws his arms around her, then returns the embrace with much greater force than he can manage. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her arms crush his ribcage, and once she realizes how skinny he is she leans back, lifting his toes off the ground so he’s the one squealing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I promised you, didn’t I?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You did,” he says. “I remember, you did.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Behind her, Katara has reached the door carrying all this stuff, and is looking back at them with what can only be described as surprised amusement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It occurs to Sokka that he never told her how often he and Toph had been talking, or how much he’s relied on her this entire time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just shrugs at her silent question as he follows her inside. He’ll tell her everything eventually. Or she’ll figure it out. Whatever. All that matters is he’s finally <em>home</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the initial celebration, Katara, Toph, and Aang leave to finish out their respective semesters, and Sokka spends the rest of the winter and most of the spring slowly regaining his strength and being shuttled around to various doctor’s appointments to get stuck with lots and lots of needles– mostly blood draws but on a few occasions antibiotics for (thankfully) mild infections he can’t seem to get away from. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time his friends return he feels stronger than he has in months and Katara joins Dad in reminding him to take it easy multiple times a day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After almost six months of being more or less stuck inside, Sokka spends as much of that summer outdoors as he can, sitting in the sun on the tiny back porch and marveling at the fresh air. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Most days, Toph comes over and sits with him, which makes Dad and Katara raise their eyebrows, but neither of them say anything. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They probably don’t want to make you self-conscious and stop coming over,” he says one afternoon, balancing an old soccer ball between his shins. “They know how much I enjoy it when you visit.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins. “I must say it’s better than texting. I was starting to dream of you talking in my screenreader’s voice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs. “Oh my God, I hate that. You should’ve called more often.” Something else occurs to him and he waggles his eyebrows. “Wait– did you just say you dream of me, Beifong?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shut up,” she pushes his shoulder where she used to punch it (which she hasn’t done in a long time). “I dream of your annoying voice. Usually waking me up in the middle of the night.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs again, loses focus, and drops the soccer ball, watching it bounce down the stairs and roll into the yard without moving to get it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When do you think you’ll play again?” Toph says as he stares at it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No idea. I can barely walk for a continuous hour without getting winded, don’t even talk to me about <em>running</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They go quiet for a bit, and Sokka reflects that even though some semblance of normalcy has returned to his life, it’s still a far cry from where things were a year ago. Then he remembers something. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But hey, check this out.” He takes her wrist and brings her hand to his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it’s growing back!” Toph leans over and brings both her hands to the fine layer of fuzz on his scalp. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hell yeah it is. Fucking finally, I might add.” He leans back in his chair. “Hopefully it’ll be something like the length it used to be by the time September rolls around.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises her eyebrows. “Thinking of going back to college?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods. “I hope so. If everything keeps going the way it is, the doctor says it’s a possibility. I need to be re-vaccinated though, and that can’t happen yet with the meds I’m on to keep Katara’s cells from attacking me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Katara’s cells would never do that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s what I’ve been saying! But she keeps telling me that’s not very scientific.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Darn science,” Toph says. “Always ruining everything.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not everything,” he says. “Science is the reason I’m still around, after all.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well then science is also the reason you almost died in the first place.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it?” He leans back even further, tilting his head back for more light on his face. “That still just seems like random really, really bad luck. Not very scientific at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should tell that to Katara,” she says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will.” He grins. “Did you know she’s shadowing my hematologist this summer?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No way.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Way. God, if she becomes a blood doctor after all this I’ll never escape.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph chuckles. “I think that might be the whole point. You’ve got her bone marrow. She has to make sure it keeps working for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>guess</em>–” Through the house, they hear the front door slam and the unmistakable sound of two people kissing and giggling. Speaking of Katara, she and Aang must be back from their minigolf date. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sounds continue, and Sokka whispers, “I don’t think they know we’re out here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph smirks and shakes her head, but they stay silent until someone moans and Katara says, “God, yes!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph slams her palm against the screen door. “Hey, you two– get a room!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or better yet, a different fucking house!” Sokka yells as the sounds fade into embarrassed grumbling. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph snorts. “A <em>fucking</em> house. A house for fucking.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he can stop himself, Sokka laughs too, and both of them are in tears by the time Katara sticks her head out the door, hair mussed and makeup smeared. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You– <em>you</em> get a room!” she splutters, but Sokka just laughs harder. Because it’s always funny to embarrass Katara, and when so many things are different now, he’s got to enjoy the ones that are the same. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In August, Sokka gets the go-ahead to ditch the immunosuppressants, which is a fucking <em>relief</em> because a) he’s sick (literally) of catching every Goddamn cold that comes within a half-mile of him, and b) it means he can get re-vaccinated, which means he can go back to college. (Conditional upon a lighter courseload and a good outpatient clinic in the area– which there is, Katara checked.) </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but Katara surprises him with a going away party a few days before he leaves. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It <em>is</em> a big deal,” she says. “Think about where you were in February. This is huge.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes. He still prefers not to think too much about February. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Besides,” she continues, “don’t blame me, it was Toph’s idea.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks up sharply, then around her to where Toph is armwrestling with Suki, with whom it turns out he can just be friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She said she told you about how we couldn’t surprise you on your birthday,” Katara says. “So we had to give it another try.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes again, but more fondly this time. “You guys didn’t have to do that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Course we did.” She bumps his shoulder with hers. “Also, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me how much you two have been talking this year.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shrugs. “I had a lot on my mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now she rolls her eyes, but doesn’t give up. “Seems like you’ve gotten pretty close.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We have,” he says, willing himself not to blush. That’s just the truth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She isn’t fooled, and leans to bump his shoulder again. “<em>So…?</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans away. “‘<em>So</em>’ what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>So</em> are you going to,” she jerks her chin at Toph. “<em>Y’know</em>?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I don’t,” he says. “Please explain.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs, but calls his bluff, “Are you ever going to get it together and–”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. I don’t know.” He cuts her off, annoyed. For the millionth time he thinks about dropping Toph at the train station last December, and what she would’ve said after the kiss if he hadn’t interrupted. “So much has changed. And– I like where we are now,” he decides. “I don’t want that to change, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t give up. “But what if it changes for the <em>better</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know if I’m even ready for that.” He shakes his head and pushes off the wall. <em>Coward</em>. “I’m just trying to enjoy the present for now.” The present and the future. Definitely not the past. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He catches Toph alone as the party’s winding down, in the kitchen putting water on for tea. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Feet covered in fuzzy socks, he sneaks up behind her. “Hey.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She jumps, reaches out to punch him and lets her hand drop. “Meathead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks sadly at her fist. “Hey, you can punch me now. The doctor said it was okay.” (Well… not in so many words, but that’s what ‘remission’ means, right?)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph’s lips pinch and she shakes her head. “Doctor’s note or no, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to punch you again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aw, come on.” He leans against the counter next to the stove. “Then how will you show me affection?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who says I want to show you affection?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Wow</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins, fingers tapping nervously as he realizes how close this is to flirting. “Like what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like I don’t know.” She turns toward him, making a poor show of being annoyed. “Don’t ask me when I’m sentimental.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cocks an eyebrow. “<em>Sentimental</em>, eh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises a fist again, then curses and drops it. “Well, you are leaving for college. Again.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So are you,” he says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans closer and sing-songs, “<em>I’ll miss you</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She growls, fails to hide her smile. “<em>I’ll miss you, too</em>,” she says between her teeth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smirks, lets his eyes drop down to her lips, and wonders if it would be worth it to just– </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey guys, can you get out another mug for Bato? He just showed up to say hi–” Aang sticks his head around the corner. “Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.” Toph says while Sokka turns around to open the cabinet. “Nothing at all.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time, Sokka doesn’t let years go by without texting Toph. In fact, he finds it hard to let a day go by without texting her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Aghghg going back to school after almost a year off sucks why did I do this???</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Because… you value your education? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>But do I tho?? This is actually terrible I’m dying. JK JK sorry</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Smh. You should know better by now. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I SAID I’M SORRY</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Hmph. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Got the flu shot but still caught the fucking flu. Y me.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oof. Have you been to the doctor? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>No, I’m a total idiot. Yes, I have. Everything’s fine but they gave me antivirals anyway. Woot. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Did you tell Katara? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>HELL no she’d probably drive down here herself to yell at me. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I thought you took your car back. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I did. She’d steal Aang’s. Or anyone’s, if she had to. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Commitment. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Ya I’ll sau. *Say. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Go to sleep. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yes ma’am. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>This semester is endless. When will you be back in town for winter break? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>…I won’t.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>?????</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way to tell you. I’m flying to my mom’s new place instead this year. Tried everything I could think of to get out of it. Couldn’t. I’m sorry. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Sokka?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Sorry. It’s okay. Just disappointed. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I know. Me too. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Happy Winter Solstice! (also Aang &amp; Katara say hi) </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Tell them Hi back. I hope it’s less exciting than last year’s. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>1000%. No weird bruises or trips to the ER.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Don’t even joke about that. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Sorry. Katara has to tell me that a lot, too. I think she’s having legitimate flashbacks. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I have those too sometimes. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>…Me too. She’s having a hard time leaving me alone in a room. It’s kind of annoying but also kind of nice. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Who’s sentimental now? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Tried to play soccer again. No games, just messing around by myself and I SUCK.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Think you’ll play in the spring season? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Doubt it. Even if they take me I’ll just be benched the entire time. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Keep working at it. I’m sure you’ll soon return to the extremely average level of skill you possessed two years ago. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Very funny. Let me remind you I played varsity in high school. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oof someone peaked early. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Shut up. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Never.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Happy transplant-a-versary! </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Thanks haha! Katara sent me a gift basket. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Are you serious? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>As a heart attack. It’s got chocolate turtles and everything. Also multivitamins. Because… Katara. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Just lookin’ out for her bone marrow. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Lol facts. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Happy birthday!! (The big 2-0!!) </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Thank you!! Two whole decades on this planet and I definitely feel different</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Two decades changes you, trust me. Did you get that thing I sent?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yes! It’s so cool, I love it. Thank you so much. Where did you find it?? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>It’s a secret.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Sokka…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Haha fine. Fair trade jewelry store. It’s black so I promise it’ll go with everything. I figured you’d like the texture. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Toph? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I do, thank you. Sorry I was trying to imagine you in a jewelry store</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>OKAY</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Hey did I mention I actually decided to take an intro bio course this term. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh yeah? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yeah. We just had the circulatory system test and I fucken ACED THAT SHIT.  </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>And how many times did you call Katara to help you study? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Zero! </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Okay, once. But it was just for one teeny tiny question. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Lol proud of you.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Will you be back in town this summer? (Please say yes.)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yes. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yay! (you’re serious, right)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yes! I wouldn’t lie to you about that. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>So you say…… I won’t be back until June, btw. Have to walk at graduation!! </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Haha I know. Congratulations. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Thanks. Did you know Katara’s graduation is actually before mine?? I can’t believe my little sister’s graduating college before me </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I did know. And it gives me endless amusement.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Of course it does. Also– how do you already know all this shit about my graduation?   </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>It’s a secret. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Graduation day feels surreal. Even a year late, and receiving just a bachelor’s degree instead of a master’s like he’d planned, Sokka still can’t really believe it’s happening. The last year and a half feels like it’s actually been several, and he’d be lying if he said there weren’t times when he thought he’d never make it this far. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can actually hear Katara screaming through the crowd when his name is called, and chuckles when he thinks about the unfortunate eardrums sitting in front of her. He tries not to blink while Dad takes about a million pictures and then actually chokes when Katara wraps him in the tightest hug ever. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…Okay. Okay leggo. Can’t breathe.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lets go and he gasps dramatically while she wipes away tears. “Sorry. I’m just so proud of you!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks. I’m proud of me, too.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes, but hugs him again anyway. “I got you a present, but got so excited I left it in the car.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs. “Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, come on.” She grabs his hand and pulls him through the crowd to the parking lot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give me a hint,” he says as he follows her, Dad trailing behind them. “What letter does it start with? A? B? C–” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up and close your eyes!” They’re at the car and Katara is trying to keep him from seeing something in the backseat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Seriously?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just do it!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, fine!” He presses his hands to his eyes and listens as the car door opens and closes and there’s a shuffling of footsteps. His heart begins to pound. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, you can open them.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lowers his hands, already smiling because he thinks he knows what it is. “<em>Toph</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her name comes out at the end of a long exhale and she smiles, leaning back against the car while he processes. “Surprise.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my– <em>Toph</em>.” He says again as he unfreezes and embraces her. It feels even better than he imagined it would to hold her again (and he’s imagined it quite a number of times), and he kind of never wants to let go. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She holds him just as tight, arms around his chest and she tries to lift him up again. “<em>Ugh</em>, I forgot I can’t do that anymore.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope.” He smirks, because he knows she’s as happy as he is about the weight he’s gained back this year. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they pull back, reluctantly, their cheeks brush again and by some ridiculous instinct Sokka kisses her cheek, just like he did at the train station. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blushes hard, not sure what to say, but unable to regret it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka…” She pauses just like before, waiting for him to interrupt again, but he doesn’t. Not this time. She tilts her face up, so he’s staring right into her eyes. “Are you really going to leave it like that for another year and a half?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Depends,” he says. “Have you thought of a new way to show affection?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods slowly, a nervous smile growing on her face. “I’ve got a few ideas.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her hand comes up to his neck but she doesn’t need to pull him down– he goes willingly and finally, <em>finally</em> he’s kissing her the way he’s thought about for… probably years now, if he’s really honest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she’s kissing him <em>back</em>, another miracle in itself, so he can ignore Katara squealing a few feet away, and Dad snapping what sounds like a half a dozen more pictures. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn’t matter, and the past year and a half feels almost worth it, because he’s still here now and so is she, and he thinks together they could make it through anything.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><span class="u">Ending Credits Music</span><br/>“Harmony Hall” - Vampire Weekend<br/>“Caring is Creepy” - The Shins<br/>“Jackrabbit” - San Fermin</p><p>I’d like to thank @brightestmoony and @mayamylove for their support and encouragement after the first 9k words, and @Allemagne for the beta-read. Couldn’t have done it without any of you! </p><p><b>UPDATE AS OF JANUARY, 2021!!</b><br/>You can now find extras &amp; deleted scenes for this fic on my tumblr using the links below-<br/><a href="https://cats-and-metersticks.tumblr.com/post/640410971842789376/fic-not-to-worry">Not To Worry</a> (Hakoda's POV)<br/><a href="https://cats-and-metersticks.tumblr.com/post/640497919178440704/fic-family-glue">Family Glue</a> (Sokka's POV)<br/><a href="https://cats-and-metersticks.tumblr.com/post/640601171818594304/fic-new-friends">New Friends</a> (Misc. Outsider POV, including an epilogue)<br/> </p><p>Come scream with me about tokka on tumblr lol at <a href="https://cats-and-metersticks.tumblr.com/">cats-and-metersticks</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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